Chapter 2

He closed the fridge without taking anything and leaned against the counter. This wasn't just about a missed breakfast. Something was wrong. The kiss, his reaction, he'd hurt her more than he realised.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. For a moment, his heart leapt, Ericka. But it was just a text from his doctoral advisor about their meeting later.

Dominic glanced at the clock. He had a class he had to assist with in an hour, but suddenly that seemed insignificant compared to the growing knot in his stomach. He needed to find her, to talk to her before this misunderstanding grew any larger.

He grabbed his keys and headed for the door. The library opened at 7:00. If he hurried, he might catch her there before his class.

The campus was still half-asleep as Dominic jogged toward the library. Morning dew clung to the grass, dampening his sneakers. His breath came out in small clouds that disappeared into the chilly air. The sun was just starting to peek over the tops of the academic buildings, casting long shadows across the quad.

He checked his watch, 6:45. The library wouldn't open for another fifteen minutes. A small group of students had already gathered at the entrance, sitting on the steps with thermoses of coffee and textbooks spread across their laps. Dominic scanned their faces, but Ericka wasn't among them.

He settled on a bench across from the entrance, knee bouncing with nervous energy. Every few seconds, he glanced toward the paths leading to the library, hoping to catch sight of her familiar walk, the way she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought.

By 7:30, he'd watched dozens of students file into the building, but no Ericka. The knot in his stomach tightened. If she wasn't at the library, where was she? Had she gone to her first class already? Or was she avoiding him completely?

His phone buzzed with a text from his doctoral advisor: "Meeting still on for 10?"

Dominic typed a quick confirmation, then hesitated before opening his message thread with Ericka. Their last exchange had been yesterday afternoon—something mundane about picking up milk on the way home. He typed out a message: "Hey, missed you at breakfast. Everything okay?" His thumb hovered over the send button for a long moment before he finally pressed it.

The message showed as delivered, but no response came.

He had to get to his class. With a last look at the library entrance, Dominic headed toward the athletic centre, his mind still replaying their kiss, her hurt expression, the emptiness of the apartment this morning. Three years of friendship, of comfortable routines and shared spaces, and he'd risked it all with one impulsive moment.

His students were already warming up when he arrived at the gym. He went through the motions of teaching, demonstrating proper form, correcting stances, but his focus was elsewhere. Every time the door opened, he glanced up, half-expecting to see Ericka standing there with her usual smile and a coffee in hand.

After class, he checked his phone again. Still no response from Ericka. He tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. Her cheerful greeting... "Hey, this is Ericka, leave a message, and I'll call you back when I'm less busy or bored, whichever comes first!" made his chest ache.

"It's me," he said after the beep. "I... we should talk about last night. Call me back, okay?"

He had an hour before his meeting with his advisor. Without consciously deciding to, Dominic found himself walking toward the English department building where Ericka had her Tuesday morning Victorian Literature class. Maybe she was already there, early for once. The English building was on the opposite side of campus, its red brick facade and ivy-covered walls a stark contrast to the modern glass and steel of the fitness centre.

As he approached, students streamed through the double doors, some clutching coffee cups, others with headphones plugged in, all moving with that particular mix of urgency and lethargy that characterised Tuesday mornings. Dominic scanned each face, searching for Ericka's familiar features.

Inside, the building smelled of old books and coffee. The hallways were crowded with students rushing between classes. Dominic checked the department directory on the wall, looking for Ericka's Victorian Literature classroom. Room 237, second floor.

He took the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs. The second-floor hallway was quieter, with just a few students lingering outside classroom doors. Room 237's door stood open, light spilling into the hallway.

Dominic peered inside. Professor Whitman was arranging papers at the front desk, his bow tie slightly askew as always. A few students had already taken their seats, but Ericka wasn't among them.

"Excuse me," Dominic said, stepping into the doorway. "Professor Whitman? I'm looking for Ericka Matthews. She's in your Victorian Lit class?"

The professor looked up, adjusting his glasses. "Ms Matthews? I'm afraid she's not here yet." He checked his watch. "Though class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes."

"Right. Thanks." Dominic retreated back into the hallway, checking his phone again. Still nothing.

The unease in his stomach intensified. This wasn't like Ericka at all. She was always early to class and always responded to texts within minutes. Something was definitely wrong.

He tried calling again. Straight to voicemail. Again.

A terrible thought struck him. What if she'd already moved out? What if she'd packed up and left while he was asleep?

Dominic ran back down the stairs and out of the building, nearly colliding with a group of freshmen on the steps. He needed to get back to the apartment. Now.

The walk that had taken fifteen minutes on the way over took less than ten on the return journey. By the time he reached their building, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air.

He fumbled with his keys, dropping them once before managing to unlock the door. The apartment was just as quiet as when he'd left it.

"Ericka?" he called, hating the desperate edge in his voice. No answer.